


Attica

by MissGillette



Series: Tilted [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha Jim "Chief" Hopper, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Ignores S3, Implied/Referenced Incest, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Billy Hargrove, Omega Steve Harrington, Past Underage, Post-Season/Series 02, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette
Summary: Jim brings Billy into the station after finding him holed up in the Camaro, heat already started. He's not alone in the holding cells.-Billy tips his head backwards in the pillow to see upside down. Through the cage that separates the station’s two holding cells, he finds the fluff of Steve Harrington’s brown locks spilled over a pillow. In much the same state as him, curled up under a scratchy blanket that stinks like alpha and dust. Hopper’s cigarettes. Billy doesn’t have to stare long, actually rolls over despite the hard floor bruising his knees, to see Steve properly. As if bidden, doe eyes open.“Steve Harrington,” Billy says with a grin already splitting his face. “You old so-and-so.”Steve’s cheek is smashed and fat in his pillow when he mutters right back, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Series: Tilted [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718029
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Attica

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, the last ST fic I have to publish lol. I wrote this waaaay back in April. But I knew I had to make this the last ST fic I posted. Because of how much people LOVE Stopper and Bopper. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Happy holidays lol.

The holding cells in the Hawkins police station downtown shouldn’t smell familiar. The cold, earthy musk of cinderblocks and concrete floors. Distantly steel and rust from the cage-like bars. Billy never had the pleasure yet, although his head rolls back on the Chief’s shoulder with a laugh like he spotted an old friend. No one can truly fault Billy for the almost drunken laugh. As Hopper dragged him on the toes of his boots through the station, they left a trail of burnt-sugar sweetness behind. Poor Billy Hargrove, caught unawares and in the middle of the night trying to just sleep in his car to pass his heat. That’s what he would say to himself, poor Billy Hargrove, but he’s too bitter to voice it. Into the holding cell he goes for the night. A temporary, modicum of mercy. His face is still hot from begging Hopper to not take him home, that it’s not safe there.

“Hold tight, kid, I’ll go grab a pillow and blanket for you, probably gonna be a rough night.”

Already slipping off the bench bolted into the wall, seeking the chill of the floor, Billy slurs, “Five-star accomodations, I’m flattered.”

Hopper’s voice fades and then strengths with his movements beyond the cell when he says, “Hey, the cell is for your protection, you’re lucky I found you when I did.” Hopper tugs the cell door open again, blanket and pillow in hand as promised. “I know you heard about Kacey Miller, snatched from her car going home from her job at the grocery store. She wasn’t in much better condition than you, and we’re still looking for her.”

“She’s dead,” Billy grumbles through lips that barely move, doesn’t even lift his hands to adjust the blanket. Hopper has to be the one to lift his head, strangely gentle for such an intimidating man, to slide the pillow under him. “Whoever picked her up definitely fucked her and dumped her, no question, not if she was ripe.”

“Yea, that’s a word for it,” Hopper sighs. He stands and brushes his hands off, will need to wash them with neutralizer soap. Will need to wash his entire uniform with it after tonight. He reeks of ripeness. “Play nice, you two, I’ll check on you in a little bit. Just try to get some sleep.”

Sleep will be hard won. Billy hadn’t been doing too good a job in the cramped backseats of the Camaro. Totally not trying to rub his dick raw but definitely avoiding the wetness in the seat of his jeans. He grimaces now, the dampness sucking up the chill of the floor and numbing his ass. It’s better than the burning between his legs, inside him that shames him so deeply. It’s almost enough to distract his heat-addled brain from Hopper’s comment. ‘Play nice, you two.’ Who?

Billy tips his head backwards in the pillow to see upside down. Through the cage that separates the station’s two holding cells, he finds the fluff of Steve Harrington’s brown locks spilled over a pillow. In much the same state as him, curled up under a scratchy blanket that stinks like alpha and dust. Hopper’s cigarettes. Billy doesn’t have to stare long, actually rolls over despite the hard floor bruising his knees, to see Steve properly. As if bidden, doe eyes open. 

“Steve Harrington,” Billy says with a grin already splitting his face. “You old so-and-so.”

His cheek is smashed and fat in the pillow when he mutters right back, “Merry Christmas, Billy.” Amber eyes slip shut again, and Steve shivers as he curls up tighter. “Didn’t know you were…”

Now Billy sours, initial burst of amusement—dare he say happiness—at seeing Steve dissipating with those words.

“Yea, well, I don’t exactly broadcast my business. Like some.” 

Brown eyes flash open, and Steve bares his teeth at Billy through the air, through the bars. Little omega fangs, just like his.

“I didn’t ask for that to happen, okay? It was an accident.”

“Oh yea, sure, collapsing in the middle of the final game for state and leaving a smear on the floor from your ass, right, accident.”

That’s old news. Steve has graduated, leaving him behind. But it’s something Billy will never forget. How the rest of the team ignored Steve’s whimpers, didn’t understand Steve’s shame or fright. Because even now it shames the other omega.

Hackles on both boys raised, they flinch as one when Hopper’s voice barks, “Hey!”

They cower as one, too, although Billy grits his teeth through it, can’t help it when Hopper stomps back into the room with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“Go. To sleep. This isn’t a party, this isn’t a social visit. It’s only gonna get worse, so get the sleep you can.” He eyes Steve in particular. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

All the edges smooth right off Steve when he shakes his head, sort of tucks his face into the pillow. Shy. That’s… odd.

“N-no, Chief, I’m fine here. It’ll be even worse at home, you know?”

Oh that’s right. Steve’s parents are repeat no-shows. And Steve is single at the moment. So even though being home is safe, unlike Billy, it’s still a drag… But why here? Why not just go spend it with one of his friends? He’s got that beta girl from the mall this last summer who is glued to his hip all the time or the Byers family. Someone. Steve has people is what it boils down to. It just turns up the dial on Billy’s bitterness, and he flops down to curl up and leave his back to the cell door. Hopper’s work boots scuff the floor as he walks away. Quiet once more.

A sigh in the cell next to him. Shuffling. Another sigh.

“Hey Billy…”

“Pretty sure we were just told to shut the fuck up.”

“Can we maybe be? Civil to each other? For a minute?”

Billy flicks his right arm out, gestures with his watch, “Lemme set a timer, you want a full 60 seconds of civility? That seems like an eternity, if you ask me.”

Steve snorts instead of scoffing—hmm interesting—and says, “No, for real man, can we just put aside the bullshit and just? Talk? It sucks being alone like this. You know.”

Of course he knows. His solitude tonight had been about to crush him when Hopper’s cruiser rolled up and knuckles rapped on Billy’s back windshield. He wasn’t even upset at being caught, just desperate for the Chief to not tail him home. The exact place he needed to avoid. So talking to Steve is better than that, at least. Already Billy’s skin relaxes from how pent up he was in the Camaro. Hopper sort of helps with that—mature, mellow alpha scent rubbed all over the shoulders of Billy’s jacket. He’s trying not to break his neck to bury his nose in his own shoulder, truth be told.

“Fine,” he sighs, stops trying to rub his nose in the stink. “What’s up? We gonna talk about alphas and pups?”

A light laugh laces in Steve’s voice when he says, “Shut up, for real… So? How come Hopper brought you here? Like I get it, you’re in h—”

“Real quick, can you not say what you’re about to say?”

Steve’s face pinches.

“Why?”

Through his teeth, Billy growls, “Because I asked nicely, Harrington, and I don’t really do ‘nice.’”

Amber eyes roll, Steve grumbling, “Whatever man,” but he continues more conversationally, “So why didn’t Hopper just take you home if he just caught you out? He woulda brought you in handcuffs if he actually arrested you or whatever.”

Steve is smarter than he acts. Somehow, Billy always forgets that. Sighing, Billy rolls onto his back once more despite his cold, damp jeans and just stares at the ceiling. The silence drags on as he battles himself. It’s none of Steve’s business, his home life. His status and what it means to him, for him. Then again, Steve has a point. Being alone fucking sucks, especially right now. Billy had practically broken down in hysterical tears struggling with Hopper’s hands wrapped around his wrists trying to stop him from running into the woods. To escape Hopper forcing him back to the house on Cherry Street.

Billy’s sigh is resigned when he mutters lowly, voice dragged over coals, “Because I asked him not to take me home. I can’t be home when I’m like this.”

Just as curious as before, “How come?”

This is the meat and potatoes of the issue. How does he even begin to explain Neil Hargrove’s prejudice? The furious, blind hatred? The violence?

A chill shakes Billy on the floor, the cold not so comforting on his heated skin anymore, as he grinds out, “Because my dad is a grade A asshole who thinks omega boys should be rounded up and shot. And he’s threatened to do it before, showed me the gun and everything back in California when he caught wind of me hooking up, because I presented and hid it from him. He’s got a history of bashing omegas in general, don’t need that sort of attention. Get me?”

Now Steve’s voice softens, like he’s afraid to ask, “Is… is that why you guys moved here?”

Billy deflates with a sigh, practically melting into the floor, when he adds even lower than all the rest, “Max outed me. She didn’t… mean to, I guess. Just running her mouth how kids do and well. Can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube, am I right?”

He means it casually. A joke, haha. Steve doesn’t laugh.

“Billy…”

“Save your pity for somebody who gives a shit.” His upper lip twitches, but it has no holding power. At this point, his heat sort of swells under his skin and pricks his eyes. The crushing loneliness creeps in despite Steve being five feet away. Billy doesn’t need his dad shaking him by the neck to get him to tear up, and he hates it, slaps an arm over his eyes to stop it. “Is our 60 seconds up yet?”

“… Yea, I guess… Listen, Billy, I—” 

“I said save it!” he snaps, refusing to let his voice warble despite the tremble in his jaw. “And if you go blabbing that to anybody, I’ll—”

“I’m not, man, chill out!”

“Boys!”

Another flinch shared, and they fall quiet. For a second.

“I mean it, Billy, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Steve huffs. “About you or your dad. I know we’re not, like, friends or anything, but I’m not gonna go running my mouth about your business.”

At least Steve stops prying. At least the secrets of his first heat in Hawkins are locked behind Billy’s teeth. It’d struck him shortly after that stupid Snowball dance at the middle school. At home in the middle of the night and Dad found him huddled on the couch clutching his work jacket. Needing an alpha’s scent, any alpha, to comfort him. He didn’t mean anything by it, didn’t mean for it to come across sexual or weird. Dad didn’t understand that at all, and on top of the rough weekend, Billy missed a few days of school. To give the bruises and swelling in his face time to heal up so maybe he could explain the ring gouges in his cheeks as something other than the wedding band on his father’s fist. Because now he’s a worthless omega, a faggot, and a freak who cuddles with his alpha father’s jacket, so he deserved being beaten into unconsciousness. Just checking the boxes as he goes.

It strikes him hard again, the well of sadness and isolation. California is so far away physically and mentally, where he’d left his soul behind. His body already aches when Billy gets his hands under him to flip over, lying on his stomach. This way, he doesn’t have to viciously rub his arm across his eyes to escape the tears. The pillow that smells vaguely like Hopper and cigarettes is a good enough place to let them squeeze out of his eyes and blot the lumpy thing. He can’t stop it, now, just takes quiet, gasped breaths when he can fight through the ball of emotion lodged in his throat.

The heat is there, screaming in his ears for relief. It’s easier to channel the hopelessness and loneliness until he’s too tired from crying. Holds it in all the time until the dam breaks and drowns him. It’s how he falls asleep on the concrete floor of the holding cell, his misery mixing with Steve’s more natural heat stink and the lingering scents of other cops, Hopper.

When Billy blinks awake some unknown time later, eyes so dry he doesn’t want to open them, it’s to soft silence. Mostly.

“I should move you,” someone says, hushed and rumbling. A whine. “I’m not leaving, stop that. I just don’t wanna wake up Hargrove.”

“Chief… Oh god, please…”

A ragged sigh, and then, “Keep your voice down, I’m right here.” The muffled hum of a zipper pulling down. “Really should move you to my office, kid, we’re gonna get caught.”

“Don’t care.” Oh it’s Steve, panting and moving around. Billy swallows hard, tunes into how his skin is alive. How his fucking jeans are freshly damp and how it hurts to swallow with his throat tight and tongue thick in his mouth as he listens. “Just-fuck please, please, I need it. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t find anyone else. I tried, I tried!”

“Hey,” Hopper sighs to him, voice softer than Billy has ever heard an alpha go before. “Come on, it’s okay, I know it’s not your fault, okay? Look at me, Steve.”

And Steve must, although with another whine muffled in his mouth. Teeth in those cherry lips of his.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m sorry I’m the only one on duty tonight, you know I didn’t wanna bring you here. I had no idea I’d get a call about Hargrove, okay? I didn’t expect to pick him up.”

“It-it’s fine.” Steve pants for a few seconds, surely shivers running wild through him to match Billy right now. The entire room stinks of them. “I don’t mmm mind Billy being here, he’s…”

Billy’s heart stops cold against his chest, against the floor under him. If Steve says something, even insinuates what Billy had told him…!

But Steve sucks down a huge breath, voice more torn than before, and whines, “He’s fine, he’s not gonna tell anyone if he wakes up. He could… probably use the help too. I just-I need you right now, everything hurts, please Chief.”

Voice rumbling low enough to even make Billy shiver, Hopper gently corrects, “Jim. You know I hate it when you call me ‘Chief’ when we do this.”

“Sorry…”

Hopper says lighter, almost amused, “Don’t be. It’d be bad for you to use my name when I’m pulling you over for running that stop sign at the end of your street.”

Steve just whines, “Okay, okay, just hurry!” More panting, shuffling, clothes scraping the concrete floor. “I need it, need you, fuck Jim please, hurts so bad…”

Steve talking does it for Billy, gets him painfully hard against his own zipper. Who could have known Steve’s mouth would be so loose when he’s in heat? Billy’s face blushes hotter than sunburn just listening, can’t imagine himself being so wanton. A slut, Dad would say. Of course Dad has words for everyone, good or bad. Billy huffs into the pillow still under him, and just… lies there. He wants to pick his head up, wants to see what Steve is doing to muffle his noises, now. The hum of a zipper from earlier was surely Hopper’s, surely for Steve to get at the dick he apparently needs. With muffled whining and Hopper letting out a sigh that almost edges into a groan, Billy’s mind helpfully provides the images he refuses to look up and see.

Of course, he wonders how big Hopper is. Big enough to shut Steve up, big enough to make his whines encouraging. The quiet drag of tongue and sticky sound of saliva on skin pour more fuel into Billy’s face, turning his ears red under his curls. How long until he can’t take it anymore and has to look up? Has to watch the bob of Steve’s head as he slides velvety skin past those ridiculously lush lips of his? Billy isn’t blind, hasn’t been blind since rolling into town last year. Steve’s lips are one of the many things that had distracted him at school, when they would practice with the team, when he was trying to avoid his family at all costs. He’s thought about them wrapped around him like they are around Hopper right now, now hopes Steve would suck him off with as much enthusiasm as he’s hearing right now…

Hopper does chuckle now, murmurs, “Take it easy, you’re gonna choke like last time.”

The pull off is obscene with Steve panting wet and loud, grunting, “Did not.”

“You absolutely did so, I think I remember a bit better than you, kid.” 

A huff and then slick lips sliding over flesh and Steve moaning with his mouth full. It’s too much, Billy can’t take it, has to peek at least once. It’s been too long, months now, since he was so near an alpha dripping with arousal like this. His dad doesn’t count, as much as Neil wants to call him a freak. Any knot will do, right Dad?

Hungry blues peek up through the curl always in the way and find Steve’s flushed face bobbing forwards and back, pulling off sometimes to just stroke Hopper. Like he needs it to stay hard, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Hopper sits on the bench in Steve’s cell, legs splayed and uniform pants open far enough to expose himself. And Steve hunkers down with his knees in the pillow he’d slept on, drooling eagerly with his lips shiny even from this distance. Billy’s stomach flips when Steve pulls off next only to flick and lap his tongue around the Chief’s fat head. It’s bigger than Billy thought it would be.

And just like that, blue eyes next wander up the softness of Hopper’s middle, up the badge on his chest, and find inky-brown eyes watching him. Hopper’s hands may be in Steve’s hair, cradling and petting him more than controlling him, but they’re there. It’s unmistakable what’s happening. Steve has said he doesn’t care if Billy sees. Hopper must not give a shit about Billy finding them out. He makes no move to stop or even slow Steve. Will Steve make him come like this? Make the older man work up another hardon only to fuck him where he needs it? The thought hadn’t occurred to Billy until just now, and the ache inside him throbs. Wanting that. He refuses. 

The hand clamped to the back of Steve’s neck forces the omega to pause, to sit up. When Steve’s mouth is clear, he whines and glares up at Hopper. But Hopper’s hands just gently coax his head around until Steve finds Billy peeking at them over the lump of the pillow under him. Billy takes in everything: Steve’s total nudity, how Hopper is fully clothed above him, his cock wet and out. Steve doesn’t miss a beat, wiggles out of Hopper’s hands and then stumbles on fawn legs. Hopper grumbles, glances at Billy with narrowed eyes, and then rises with a grunt to follow Steve stumbling like a drunk moron. He tucks himself back into his pants, although just barely, and catches Steve by the hips just as Steve throws the door open to Billy’s cell. It hadn’t been locked.

“Woah there, kid, what are you doing?”

Hopper holds Steve back enough for Steve’s arms to flail, for him to dance on his toes. Mindless of his erection bobbing, impressive for an omega. Locker room peeks are never enough, can’t get caught, can’t risk ogling another omega. Can’t risk anyone finding out Billy has a hardon for their kind and has wanted to fuck Steve since their first moment of eye contact on the parking lot. A charged thing like he’s an alpha in disguise, but he’s just as wet in his jeans as Steve is right now. It drips down his thighs, makes a shiny mess between them and goes tacky where it’s dry. Steve whines in the big hands holding him and gives a feeble struggle.

“Use your words, Steve, I don’t know what that means.”

Unbidden, Billy pushes his chest off the floor and stutters, “L-let him go.”

Hopper grimaces behind and above Steve.

“Despite what this looks like—”

“I don’t give a shit about your Lolita complex, just let him go, he”—Billy’s jaw locks with a shiver, the potency of them much closer now, harder to ignore how he responds in kind—“he knows what he wants. It’s… cool.”

A bushy eyebrow cocks up at him.

“Cool huh? Are you gonna be cool about this, or we gonna have a problem? Nobody at home needs to know about this, right? Or I can take you back there right—”

“No!”

Everyone freezes with Billy’s voice bouncing off the walls, breaking a little through that single outburst. He wrangles it all back, the phantom memories of Dad standing over him in the house, catching him with the jacket before dragging him to the floor by his hair, threatening to shave him bald while beating the shit out of him. Billy’s fingernails shred a little where they curl against the floor, clawing to keep him rooted anywhere but home. Anywhere but Neil Hargrove.

“No,” he says softer, as close to a plea as his pride will allow. He drops his head, shakes it to dispel his disgusted shiver, and then lifts his eyes back up. “We all got secrets to keep, Chief. I ain’t a snitch. Just let Steve go, he wants to come to me.”

Of course Billy knows what every twitch, every vocalization from Steve means. It’s not fucking rocket science, but these alphas would have everyone thinking otherwise. Billy throws the blanket off him and already rolls onto his ass despite the discomfort when Steve slips out of Hopper’s hands. He comes stumbling towards Billy, knees trying to buckle long before he crosses the six-foot cell. Billy’s hands lift up to catch him if need be, and he helps lower Steve to the floor. The concrete will not be kind to Steve’s bare knees, so Billy kicks the blanket until it’s spread out. A mockery of a nest, but better than nothing.

“Hey Harrington,” he mumbles before Steve’s lips are on his, mouths kisses to him until Billy kisses back. When Billy lifts his head to break free, he grumbles, “Jesus you stink. Like somebody dipped you in lemonade and left you out in the sun.”

“You’re not much better, champ,” Hopper says above them, hands again at his hips. His fly is still unzipped, cock soft now but still imposing. Billy stares until fingers snap and draw his eyes up. “You sure about this? I know it’s a little weird.”

Can’t be weirder than Neil Hargrove’s wild fear that his son will come crawling to him on his belly, begging for a knot. Because any knot will do.

Forcing down his repulsion, Billy tries to crack a grin despite his feverish eyes and sweaty skin and drawls, “Better than beating off alone in my car. Won’t have to clean the seats this way.”

Hopper huffs, shakes his head, and then turns around. Steve is busy at Billy’s neck, hands sloppily shoving Billy’s jacket off. That done, trembling hands pawing at Billy’s thin t-shirt, nails catching on his nipples. Billy deals with that, smacking Steve’s hands away from squeezing and fondling his chest, while Hopper retrieves the pillow and blanket from Steve’s cell. He adds them to the pile and then stands there watching them. Steve is a fucking handful, worms long fingers under Billy’s shirt to get at skin and gold and muscle. No demure, pin-up omega here. He’s all hard lines and snapping teeth at Steve’s forehead when Steve insists on nibbling at his neck and squeezing his pecs. Like he has tits or something.

A wild shiver runs through Billy, threatening to pry off the lid of his iron control, when Steve bites harder at the crook of his neck.

“Jesus,” slips between his teeth, his hands stumbling in their fight to keep Steve from groping him so much. Steve is all over him, though, pushing him down until it’s just the blanket under dirty curls. Billy blinks up in the shadow of Steve hovering above, not quite straddling him, and grumbles, “Are you always so touchy when you’re like this, Harrington?”

Steve grunts, forces out, “Stop calling me that when I’m about to suck you off, asshole.”

He won’t say no to that, although Hopper watching them now with a curious frown under his moustache gives Billy pause.

“What?” he snaps, not as much fire in the word as there normally would be. 

Hopper hums, rubs a hand over his mouth, and mutters, “All of you are like this while you’re in heat.” Billy blanches at the word, but Hopper keeps right on. “Although you’re a strange one, I have to admit. Sort of figured you’d be the one bending the bars to get to Steve or me rather than the other way around.”

Hopper nods to Steve, who is more than happy to pick at Billy’s clothes, shoving his shirt up and pawing at the front of his pants. The idea to squeeze and fondle Billy between his legs through his jeans is too much for Steve to ignore. Rather than buck into the caress, Billy tries to shy away. All of it transpiring under watchful, dark eyes. Hopper will see right through him at this rate. So Billy shoves Steve away by the shoulders and reaches up to whip his shirt off himself. He’d rather do this himself, can’t stand people trying to manhandle him and take his clothes off. Let him do it himself. So he only has to smack Steve’s hands away a few more times while shedding jeans and boots, leaving Billy in nothing but socks. It’s too cold in here to take them off, his toes already distantly numb and frozen.

“Well?” Billy angles his the best glare he can manage right now up to their audience. “Aren’t you getting in on this?”

It’s about the time Steve shoves him back down again, knocking the air and daylights out of him. The back of Billy’s skull smarts where it bounces off the floor. Steve’s mouth biting above his pubic hair sweetens the pain. This Billy can get into, immediately dives thick fingers into Steve’s hair to direct his fellow omega where he wants him. Steve responds with only a moment of rebellion, trying to rip his head out of Billy’s hands. Billy just twists his fingers deeper in silky hair, tugs until he knows a few strands pop free. That must do it for Steve, though, because he drops his forehead to Billy’s hip and groans long and loud against his skin. Billy’s ears burn all over again, loud bastard, and he hurries Steve with more insistence to his dick. Just shut him up.

If he weren’t… afflicted, he wouldn’t mind Steve being loud. If they were just fucking like normal. The audience has no bearing on it. As it is, Billy will grind his teeth to dust through this whole endeavor to lock his voice behind them. It can shake the boards and rattle all the doors, but Billy won’t let it out. He’s better than that. So maybe he’s a little mean, a little rougher than he needs to be when he shoves Steve’s head between his legs. That straight nose of his smashes into the dark blond hair curled above his dick. As hairy as he can maintain. It’s not the easiest thing to do on birth control that tries to make him soft and smooth. There’s a reason he works out every day. Anything to keep that softness at bay.

Steve grunts in his hands, pain, and Billy lets up. Not enough for Steve to slip away, not that the lips mouthing kisses up his shaft are interested in escape. Billy flicks a hand free from the back of Steve’s head to thread his fingers through the flop of hair always curling over Steve’s forehead. Steve even opens his eyes and meets Billy’s up the toned planes of his body. Not for long, Steve always sort of squirrelly with eye contact, especially other men. Especially with Billy. But Billy still keeps the wave of Steve’s bang out of the way so he can watch cherry lips meet the blushing head of his cock. A groan finally crawls its way through the bars of Billy’s teeth. Freedom at last.

Billy startles, though, when Hopper finally moves in. He’d ignored the alpha’s presence completely, focused too much on Steve. Figures Billy would zero in on the thing he wants rather than the thing his body tells him he needs. Hopper is hard again in his thick hand, stroking himself while watching them. A curl of possessiveness unfurls like a frond in Billy and wants to wrap its tendrils around Steve. Omegas aren’t supposed to be possessive, shouldn’t want to snatch a pretty doe away and hide it where only he can have it, look at it, touch it. So when Hopper lowers himself to his knees with a groan, stealing the pillows for said knees, Billy’s upper lip twitches in a snarl. 

Hopper stares right at him and snorts.

It’s enough of a dismissal for pink to flood Billy’s cheeks and ears, enough to deter him from watching Hopper so openly. He sneaks glances at the alpha when he looms behind Steve. Dropping his cock, Hopper scoops Steve up under his thighs and pops him onto his knees. Steve yelps against Billy’s cock, shooting sharp bolts through the buzzing skin straight to the pool filling up behind his navel. Billy almost arches off the scratchy blanket under them, almost ruts his cock hard against Steve’s plush mouth. His hands dragging Steve back down curtail that want, although he does rock his hips into Steve’s face.

Just as Steve had moaned and whined so pretty around Hopper, he does the same with Billy. It doesn’t even ding Billy’s pride that Hopper is bigger than him. Yea, no shit an alpha’s cock is bigger than his. Still, he and Steve are nothing to sneeze at. They are not pin-up poster, dirty magazine fodder. Nothing small or soft about them—although Billy likes the slight softness at Steve’s belly. He’d be nice to hold there if Billy were spooned behind him. Just squeezing and teasing him, like Steve does to him now, only somewhere much more fun. He doesn’t need to stroke Billy like he did Hopper. Billy will have no problems staying hard, is still that age where he gets hard for no reason. Steve knows what that’s like. No one is even touching his dick, but Billy bets it bobs with every twitch of his body.

More so when Hopper takes Steve by a cheek, holding him open, and dives thick fingers into him. A squeal around his cock, and then Steve pops off to moan into Billy’s thigh. Billy’s insides give a tumble—out of fear or excitement, he’s not sure. The line is too blurred. He avoids looking higher than Hopper’s hands as he watches the alpha work two fingers through slick and tightness, shoves a third in with a grunt. So fast, is that too fast? Is Steve loose enough, sloppy enough for that? Doesn’t it hurt? Must not from the way Steve pants like a dog on Billy’s skin before shoving his mouth down as far as it will go. And then some as Steve welcomes the head of Billy’s dick down his throat.

“Oh fuck,” Billy grunts, finally gets his hips into this and stops thinking about Hopper prying Steve open with his fingers. Stops thinking about that happening to him. “Fuck Steve, holy shit…”

Of course Steve is good at this. Somehow it makes sense. When Billy had arrived and did reconnaissance on Steve, he heard all about the social butterfly going to town on his dick right now. Steve jumped on anyone who would give him the time of day, fucking and sucking his way through girls mostly. A rumor or two tickled his ear about Steve tangoing with a boy or two. Tommy hotly denied any involvement, but the tang of deceit hung about him. Billy can see it. Tommy in his position or the other way around. Steve has skill he honed encounter after encounter. Whatever the other person was packing, he was into it. Steve is too confident of his breaths with dick slipping in and out his throat, too unafraid to be messy with drool on his chin. And that mouth, fucking hell…

Startling hard, Steve tears his mouth away in a fluid motion, doesn’t even cough but immediately shreds his tenor on another loud moan. Blue eyes zip up and find Hopper finally leaning forward, finally sinking into Steve like he needs. Billy isn’t a good judge of age, but he bets Hopper is pushing 40 if not older. Will he last long? An alpha is an alpha no matter the age, sure. Age takes its toll. Billy won’t think of times he’s heard Dad curse through the walls, only for Susan to try and soften the bruising of his ego. Serves the bastard right. For Steve’s sake, Billy hopes Hopper pops that knot in him fast. The sooner he does, the sooner Steve’s skin and blood will unwind and let him fall quiet. Billy’s dick in his mouth only blocks the needy calls so much. 

Billy knows exactly what those calls are, what they mean. That the blood-hot skin and thickness rubbed against Steve’s slick hole is exactly what he needs, that Hopper can go faster, harder. This is just the thing to wring all the terrible heat out of him. Such things may go over Hopper’s head as he rocks into Steve, picking up a pace that makes the leather in his belt whine. Because he’s still fully clothed, belt buckle twinkling and bouncing with the back and forth motions. Steve doesn’t sway too much where his mouth is a vicious, tight vice around Billy. Probably because Steve knows they can come many times and still not be satisfied. Billy knows that best of all, sort of dreads what may happen after Steve is sated and Hopper turns those dark eyes on him. 

So Billy doesn’t think about himself in Steve’s position and just focuses on silky hair in his fingers, the heat of Steve’s skin brushing his inner thighs. And that mouth. Billy waits for Hopper’s rhythm gently shifting Steve on his knees and then matches it. When Hopper fucks forward, Billy snaps his hips to fuck Steve right back. In and out those cherry lips, in and out the back of his throat until Steve whines when he can, breathes when he can, and comes shaking between them. Hopper curses, fingers denting Steve’s pale skin at his hips, and bullies his way past Steve’s fluttering tightness. A knot for sure, whether Steve will catch on it for long is another story. Whether Hopper actually comes in Steve is another story, too horrible for Billy to brush against the thought for long. Even if they’re both on birth control, it’s too horrible. 

Buzzing energy gathered just under the surface of his skin, Billy uses Steve’s slack mouth for all its worth. Steve even does him the favor of bobbing his head despite how boneless and heavy he is between the two cocks in him. And isn’t that a heady rush? Billy belts out another groan from the deepest pit of his throat, so proud he doesn’t go breathy and high like Steve. Like the way Steve moans while in heat somehow makes him lesser than Billy. He doesn’t think about that, thinks instead about the way Steve must feel so stuffed full and satisfied. Somehow, he still manages to keep a good rhythm with Billy, still swallows and hollows his cheeks around velvety flesh thundering past his lips. Billy doesn’t mind the filthy sound or the drool on him when he arches off the floor and succumbs to the rush of his orgasm.

Swirling around and around like someone has popped the stopper in him, Billy’s orgasm rushes out of him and into Steve. Which Steve accepts without hesitation, without missing a beat or a drop. He keeps the pressure and tight drag of his lips over Billy until Billy’s strength shakes all throughout his body, ready to give up. Not until he flops back to the blanket and floor does he tune into the fact he’d bucked his hips into Steve’s face and held him there, making him take it, until the last spurt of come down his throat. A harder shiver than all the others races through Billy’s skin when Steve brushes the hands in his hair away and sits up. Cold air hits his skin, and blue eyes flutter. Just beyond them, Steve takes a deep breath and nudges spit off his chin with the bump of his wrist.

Billy floats for a while, then. The hunger in his skin is far from gone. The orgasm just now has only stoked the fires, made the ache in his bones and inside him that much worse. All Steve’s warmth falls away, but he’s not alone for long. Heavy footsteps, an unhurried one-two, and then a shadow falls over him. He flinches, can’t help it, when Hopper stoops down stinking of Steve’s slick and hormones and rolls Billy over. With all the weight of Billy’s muscles, he goes about as gracefully as a square rock rolling down a hill. Especially when the floor comes up to meet his little nose, and he almost bashes it into the concrete just under him. The blanket sort of helps save him, gives him something softer to drag his face against. He’s not flat on his belly for more than a breath or two before warmth reappears. Behind him.

Hopper is stronger than he looks. Billy knows that, now, with hands like bear paws doing to him what they’d done to Steve. They curl around his thighs, right at the creases where legs meet torso, and draw him onto his knees. Billy wobbles there, unused to it. Unlike Steve, though, no one coaxes Billy onto his elbows or hands. No, after a shuffle of pillows and Hopper grunting behind him, something like, “Too old for this shit,” Hopper smooths a hand down the dip of Billy’s spine. Encouraging him to press his shoulders and face flat to the floor. To bow his back. To present himself. For a knot.

Billy panics.

He doesn’t get far, doesn’t even get much more than one of his legs collapsing under him. Can’t even kick that leg out. Hopper growls behind him, something real, something terrifying, and Billy freezes like someone has cut his puppet strings. That doesn’t stop his chest and stomach from heaving huge breaths that don’t make it deep enough into his lungs to count. Heart going a mile a minute, it’s all Billy can do to fight the blackness in the corners of his eyes. If he passes out, then it doesn’t have to happen. Instead, he stares to the side with his left cheek smashed into the scratchy blanket. In the corner of his panicked vision, Hopper looms huge and wide and terrifying while Billy is stuck like this. There’s no scowl on his face, no anger riding the coattails of that growl. Just bushy eyebrows coming together and his moustache frowning.

“Kid, I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? If you want your heat—”

“Shut up!”

“If you want your heat to be over, then let me do this, and it’ll be done.”

Hopper speaks right over him, only raises his voice to be heard over the echo of Billy’s yell. His plea. Shaking his head at the way Billy trembles, Hopper repeats petting his hand up and down that broad back. Up and down, just the rasp of skin on skin. Helping Billy get used to someone touching him. He’s all edges and no softness, all teeth and no smiles. There’s no trilling here, no Billy opening himself up to what he needs. He’d rather bite the hand that feeds. If he could, he’d eye Hopper’s hand drawing warmth and hunger into his skin.

“Calm down,” Hopper says gently, not even close to a command. He could do it. Could put a little force behind his voice, put that force into Billy to make him obey. Dad does it all the time. Billy wants to throw up thinking about it, stops shaking to hold everything in. “Hey, I said calm down, all right? Nobody is gonna hurt you, **I’m** not gonna hurt you.”

And then softer in his ear, “Billy?”

Amber eyes sort of dopey and heavy, Steve blinks at him where he lies on his side, facing Billy. When he’d wiggled closer to Billy, close enough to touch him, Billy isn’t sure. He can’t think much beyond Hopper’s hands on him, the warmth of a body behind him, and the way his heart pulses in his fingertips. They’re so cold where his arms sort of curl up on either side of his chest. The thought to strike out with a fist to defend himself hadn’t even crossed his mind, his panic so blinding. Now with Steve close and the sweetness of another omega petting over him, Billy loosens the ties that bind him. Slightly.

Steve’s voice is groggy and rough when he says, “It’s okay, man, he’s really not gonna hurt you. It feels good, I promise. Here…” Steve rolls onto his stomach like before, gets weak legs under him until he’s an exact mirror of Billy. Only he curls his arms around his head. It looks comfortable. “Do this. It’s better.”

Why it’s better, Steve doesn’t explain. He relaxes the position and curls up on his side again when Billy just does as suggested, not even a drop of hesitation in him. It is better, but the reason why escapes him. He hates to think he just feels safer with his arms here to protect his head should something terrible happen. At least this way he’ll be able to block the sounds of Hopper grunting behind him, the slick drag of their bodies while the alpha fucks him. Billy’s stomach bottoms out for a handful of reasons, but the two loudest reasons are deep hunger and even deeper fear. He just keeps his eyes on Steve when Hopper’s hand stops petting his back. When Hopper’s other hand holding his hip slips around to pry him open instead. And then fingers pet gently at his entrance, wet in spite of himself.

“You gotta relax,” Steve mumbles to him, sleepy already. The floor isn’t too kind to Billy’s knees and shoulders, can’t be any kinder to the one Steve lies on to face him. Steve yawns, wiggles closer, and then adds, “It’ll just take longer if you fight it. Jim’s a good alpha.”

Everything about that last sentence tastes wrong from Hopper’s first name all the way to ‘alpha.’ Good or no, Billy doesn’t want an alpha, never has, never will, would almost rather Steve fuck him than Hopper. It wouldn’t help, though, and he knows that. His hindbrain only concerned with living and dying and fucking knows that. Still, he can’t help but start to wind up tightly again, fighting the burn and pressure of just one finger slipping into him. Billy grunts, and his knees almost slip out from under him. The big hand on his ass squeezes him, nudges his rear end back up and high. Exposing him. A whine almost breaks through his tight teeth, stop, you’re hurting me, I‘m scared, but Steve reaching for his hair dries the panic right up.

Steve’s fingers in his curls are a far cry from the cruel grip Billy had on him. All Billy’s trembling slows to a stop with Steve’s hand in his hair. Steve lies with his head pooled in his other arm and just pets curls back from falling past Billy’s ear. Billy’s pride should rebel against this, that a simple hand petting him like this soothes him. But it’s Steve. Nothing but calm, nothing but gentleness. Steve doesn’t mock him, ridicule him, nothing. Just breathes nice and slow and deep until Billy tunes into him mirroring those breaths. Finally not hyperventilating anymore. 

It takes a few tries to get his voice to come out without it drying up halfway through. 

“What are you doing?”

Steve gives a half shrug 

“Touching your hair.”

Behind him, the pressure changes when Hopper starts gentle thrusts in and out of him. If Billy focuses on the drag of slick skin piercing him, he’ll freak out all over again. So he keeps talking. 

“Why?”

“Cuz you’ve got cool hair, man. I’ve always wanted to groom you and see what it feels like.” Steve grins a little while wrapping his finger around and around a curl, twisting it. “Maybe that shoulda been the thing to give you away. Guys hardly ever give a shit about keeping their hair nice, just so long as it doesn’t look like dog shit. I’ve only ever seen omega guys take care of their hair like we do.”

Are they actually discussing Billy’s hair while Hopper sighs and slips two fingers into him? It doesn’t hurt, is just a strange pressure and weight inside him. He doesn’t like it, knows the ‘best’ is yet to come with a knot bullying him open and rubbing him in all the right ways. So much of him wants that, has needed it all along only now Billy is finally admitting it. Needing things is tedious. He could do without ‘needing’ anything. But Steve is right. The more he relaxes, the faster this goes, the sooner it’s over. He’s not sneaking back into his room through his window smelling freshly fucked, so his night is far from over. At least Steve ducking closer to nuzzle his hair and sort of hum in his ear helps Billy block Hopper out all the more.

Push comes to shove, though, and three fingers and the odd jut of Hopper’s thumb slipping in alongside them demands his attention. Billy breathes hard against his bicep and Steve’s jaw just above that. Is it possible for him to move that arm out of the way so he can get at Steve? Maybe kiss him, as pathetic as that is? Anything to keep his panicked brain off Hopper. So, Billy wiggles his right arm away, out of the way, and cranes his head around to nip at Steve's jaw. It’s a tight squeeze with their heads on the floor, no pillow to help the angle. But Steve comes down like he knows exactly what Billy wants. Like it whispers to him through Billy’s skin and hair, Steve gives himself over to lips that take his.

Steve’s mouth catches Billy’s startled gasp when Hopper draws his fingers apart inside him. Opening him. Stretching him out for something of a similar size. Billy tries to choke the sound, but a wiggle on his knees rubs Hopper’s fingers all along his walls. Why does that have to feel good? Billy hates how it makes his eyes flutter and roll back, how Steve sort of smirks against his lips and has to take over kissing Billy while he revels in the sensation. A subtle, ‘I told you so.’ Billy bites Steve’s tongue for his troubles, but just as quickly sucks the pain away. Steve’s smirk remains until Billy’s right hand shifts and snags in Steve’s hair. That smirk trembles and then melts even as Steve’s hand tightens in Billy’s hair, too. They’re all slick mouths and tongues slipping out to pet and play with one another when Hopper pulls out with a sigh. Billy knows what comes next.

“Hold on to him, Steve,” Hopper grumbles. “Keep talking to him, whatever you gotta do.”

Steve hums into their next kiss and gives Billy’s hair a tug. That’s nice, not half bad at all, and Billy gives him a tiny hum in return. Do that again. Steve’s hand shifts in his hair to better cup the back of his head where his hair is thickest. The sharp sting in Billy’s scalp is just enough for him to focus on instead of Hopper shuffling behind him, the wet sound of his hand on himself, making sure he’s hard for round two. Steve pulling his hair is not enough, however, to distract from warmth blanketing his thighs, rough uniform brushing him, and then skin hot with blood rubbing between his cheeks. Seeking the softness in him, gliding inside him like it’s nothing.

Billy still chokes on his next breath, breaks their next kiss to blurt out an awful sound. A whimper so delicate and frightened that Billy wants to bash his forehead into the floor. Hopper stops, however much he’s crammed into Billy. He actually stops. 

“Steve…,” the alpha warns.

“Sorry,” he breathes right back, and then at Billy, “Come on, don’t think about him, it’s fine. You’re gonna be okay, it’ll feel good, keep kissing me Billy, come on.”

His eyes are pinched so tightly shut that phantom pops of color burst into life behind his lids. But he can’t resist the plush lips mouthing at him. Come on, play along, it’s nice to kiss me, I know you want to. And he does, he likes kissing Steve, can’t believe he’s waited this long to do it. Kissing Steve is like driving around carefree with only a casual glance to the fuel gauge. Windows rolled down, wind making a mess of his hair but him not caring about that. And the wind reaches through the window to kiss his face rough and force him into the seat, because it’s too much to hunch towards the steering wheel. It’s never enough to tune out the hum of the Camaro around him. Like Steve isn’t enough for Billy to ignore the shifting of Hopper inside him when the Chief finally picks up a slow rhythm. But it’s nice to have Steve in his face, smiling into their kisses and petting him. Like the wind.

Billy’s next sound is a grunt as Hopper rocks him forward. The balls of his knees grind into the concrete floor. There may be bruises, and he’ll definitely be sore tomorrow. But… it’s not… terrible. It’s uncomfortable, but some parts aren’t terrible. Hopper’s hands firm at his hips aren’t terrible. They set the pace but don’t hold Billy too it. Billy is free to sort of rock on his knees, either working with Hopper or just exercising his free will. Of course sometimes one of them will shift in such a way, change the angle just slightly, and energy starts to curl and build inside him. Hopper brushing over his prostate, piling up the desire already coiled so thickly under Billy’s honey skin. The smell of them is thick like Hopper with Steve, only it’s not warm lemonade with Billy. It’s sickly sweet like overly ripe honeydew, and Billy hates it.

Steve hums when their slick lips break apart to breathe, “That’s it, man, get into it, you’re doing great.”

Billy cracks an eye open to watch Steve inhale him so deeply and give a little trill from the pleasure of it. Billy can’t imagine himself making that noise, can’t imagine his throat forming the sound or what his voice would do to it. He wants to make noise, though. Every time Hopper’s belt and pelvis brush his ass, sinking as deeply as he can, a groan wants to punch out of Billy. His stomach hurts from resisting it. But he won’t, he won’t do it! He can barely do this, he can’t carry on and be loud like Steve. Like he’s supposed to be. Billy winds himself back up, and Hopper sighs behind him.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the alpha grumbles. “Sorry about this, Billy.”

Billy doesn’t know what he’s sorry for until one of Hopper’s hands brushes Steve’s out of his hair. Path clear, Hopper wraps his hand around the back of Billy’s neck. And squeezes.

Like someone has pulled his cord right out of the wall, Billy’s strength dies. It’s just Hopper’s body behind him and the hand at his hip holding him up. The hand at his neck keeps him pliant, keeps him loose as Hopper adjusts the angle and fucks down and into him. Steve is still here, tucks himself close to Billy’s side and sort of nuzzles him and whines softly in his ear. Worried because he’s gone deathly quiet, barely even breathes. Not for long. It builds in Billy’s throat, up his windpipe, and then crowds on top of his tongue. All the sounds he’s swallowed and forced down, beaten into submission. They rally against his teeth and cry for justice, for recognition. To be heard. Hopper climbs up from one of his knees, boot firm in the ground, and almost lifts Billy off his knees to slam him onto his cock.

Ruining his voice immediately, the first cry Hopper pries out of him is plenty scared and panicked. But desperate, too. It crawls past bitten lips and escapes against Steve’s face. With his eyes closed, Billy misses the way Steve’s fly open and how his lips part. So surprised, but so hurt, too, to hear his fellow omega struggle so much. So Steve darts a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth and makes noise with him. Billy doesn’t hear it over the roar of shameful blood in his ears trying to block how his voice goes all over the fucking place and refuses to stay deep. When he takes a breath, he catches the trailing end of Steve moaning with him. No one is even touching Steve, the sweet stink of him barely noticeable now, but Steve moans with him all the same.

They time it all with Hopper thundering into Billy. Sometimes he gathers his strength to lift Billy back and smacks the poor omega’s body into his thrusts. Those pop out jarring whimpers from Billy, but Steve is right there to mimic him. It helps more than Billy will ever be able to admit, that Steve either just wants to join his calls or maybe does it so something else fills Billy’s blushing ears. His own calls shame him too deeply, he’s not into them, but he’s into everything about Steve right now and clings to that as the need in his skin rises like the tide. Slowly at first and then rushing him all at once.

Blue eyes crack open wet and so bright when Billy gasps, “F-fuck, gonna…”

“It’s okay,” Steve shushes him, is in his breathing space until all Billy smells is Steve. “It’s okay, just let go, just let it happen, you’re okay.”

The heat and pressure inside him increase. It’s almost here; it’s about to happen. Would anyone stop or slow down if Billy speaks up to warn this is his first knot and he’s out-of-his-mind terrified? That the Chief is actually fucking him well, keeps up his punishing pace despite his age, despite having just fucked Steve just as hard and good? Billy scrambles at the floor, nails catching on the blanket, when Hopper lifts him up that much more. Not off the ground, just enough to fuck down and into him as his knot starts to swell again. Billy keeps his eyes open, doesn’t think he could close them even if they overflow. He’s all eyes on Steve as they moan long and loud together, and Billy’s come spatters the blanket in violent pulses.

It’s so much more when Hopper swells inside him and burrows as deeply, as tightly as he can. Billy’s skin sings, ahhh, and finally relinquishes the energy stored just below it. The toned muscles under his navel snap unseen as his orgasm drags out. His stretched rim tightens in waves around Hopper, too, making each surge that much more intense. Better than coming down Steve’s throat, but at such a steep cost to get here. This orgasm pulses from inside him, from thick flesh having brushed past his sweet spot with every thrust only for Hopper’s knot to fill him up good and tight. So this is what it feels like to catch on a knot and hang off it. Literally in Billy’s case until Hopper shakes with the strain behind him and guides Billy’s knees back to the ground. On terra firma again with every inch of him sweat slicked and trembling. Why can’t he stop shaking?

Steve’s hand slips under Hopper’s arm—the alpha still pins him by the neck—to pet Billy’s back despite the sweat. He shushes Billy’s trembling, too, must know exactly what freaks Billy out now. Maybe Steve knows this is his first time? Maybe there’s something that gives it away, like the hair thing? Maybe Billy is just fucking pathetic and sniffling and crying no matter how hard he grits his teeth to make it stop. Steve is warm all along his right side, touching Billy everywhere he can with their bodies folded up awkwardly like this. Billy just wants to let his knees slide out from under him, to never feel the strain of this position ever again, and let Steve blanket him in warmth. 

Already the unbearable tightness in his skin relaxes. His head clears, the wild desires in him sink below his surface again, and the sweetness he hates mellows considerably. Of course Steve and Hopper are right, that his affliction will end sooner after this. It beats spending three days in his car, roughing it. But just barely. And only because Steve was here the entire time, guided him through it from the moment Hopper folded him into this position. He tests the alpha, now, and wiggles and squeezes to try and force him out. Hopper hisses behind him, squeezes his neck to the point where Billy almost flops boneless under him. Hopper lightens his grip at the last second. Those fingers turn gentle once more and take to massaging the tension in Billy’s neck instead of forcing him to submit. It’s moderately better than Dad using an alpha command on him. But only just.

“You okay, kid?” Hopper pants slightly. 

Billy wishes he could find the strength to lift a hand and flick the Chief off. But without Hopper still holding him up, he would be flat as a pancake on this concrete floor. Fuck, he’s going to be ridiculously sore tomorrow. Today. Whatever fucking time it is. Hopper had found him a little after 11, way past curfew. At least it’s either still Friday or now Saturday so Billy can spend the next two days lying in bed on his stomach, waiting for every piece of him to stop aching. Especially his knees and ass, would rather the latter stop burning sooner than later. This part of the process isn’t exactly pleasant, so Billy takes to wiggling again. Something about it, Hopper already going down, the slick or come in him making it slippery, something about this time works in Billy’s favor. He pops off with a shredded gasp from him and a rumbling groan from Hopper.

Flat in the blanket like he’s wanted, Billy doesn’t move for a long time. Hopper is up and away, though, only for Steve to swoop in and cuddle up to him, unimpeded now. Knowing what he knows about Steve, though, it doesn’t surprise Billy at all that Steve is a cuddler. Always seeking affection, even from the wrong places. Billy doesn’t have the bravado to admit he’s a ‘wrong place,’ so he keeps the thought to himself. If he opens his mouth, he may start crying anyway. It… hurts being this empty. And he doesn’t like thinking about what caused this emptiness and the fact that he’ll have to spend the rest of his life, every heat after this, knowing how easily it could all just go away if he’d swallow his pride and submit but— 

A trill in his ear cuts through the bullshit. Makes him take a fucking breath, another, and then another until he shakes with them. Steve is back to shushing him. The other blanket appears somehow—Hopper stumbling back in the cell to drag it over them—and Steve is the one to tuck it around them. They have no true defense against the chill of the concrete floor soaking into them. All they have is each other. Steve’s left hand roams over his back and across his shoulders, into his hair when Billy shakes harder. His arms are back around his head if only to hide the occasional tear that drips down his nose. How weak, how pitiful.

“Stop grinding your teeth like that,” Steve says with almost a laugh in his voice. His fingers pet curls away from Billy’s ear, scoop them off the back of Billy’s neck. His skin still tingles there from Hopper’s hand. “It’s okay to cry, you know, it’s really overwhelming sometimes. It’s normal.”

Billy turns his head in the safety of his arms, opens his eyes, and stares at Steve over the curve of his forearm. He doesn’t stop crying.

Steve just offers him a tick of a smile and keeps right on petting him. So gentle and understanding when Billy has been nothing but a jackass to him since day one… So why?

“Why are you doing this?”

He doesn’t linger over how ruined his voice is from making all that whorish racket or how it’s thick from crying.

Steve’s smile wrinkles into a frown. Confusion.

“What, talking to you and touching you after? Cuz it sucks to be alone after a knot, and it’s best if Hopper isn’t the one who does this, cuz…” Steve gives a half shrug. “Cuz he doesn’t really get this part. He was married once and had a daughter. His ex-wife is a beta, so he never had to deal with this sort of stuff. And him and Joyce aren’t a thing yet, so he’s gonna have to learn how to comfort us at some point…”

“So what, you’re just being nice to me? Cuz I got fucked in the ass?”

Steve rolls his eyes. The hand in Billy’s hair tangles in a few locks and gives a tug. Hard.

“You can be mean to try and push me away as much as you want, but I know you’re overwhelmed right now, so why don’t you turn the asshole meter down a couple of clicks, yea?” His hand turns gentle in Billy’s hair, actually pushes him down until the tension in his neck releases. He doesn’t know how long he’s been holding it there. That aches, too. “Knots are different for everyone. I can’t sit here and rag on you for reacting like you did. If you didn’t like it, then you didn’t like it, and that sucks. I’m not gonna be a dick about it.”

The last of Billy’s tears are long gone, and he blinks dry eyes at Steve when he murmurs, “When did you get so mature, Harrington?”

“It’s ‘Steve,’ man, you really don’t get to be on a last-name basis with me after I blew you, okay? Can we at least call a truce if you won’t be friends with me?”

Billy blinks at him.

“You… wanna be friends? Why?”

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Steve drawls, “You know we coulda been friends from the start, right? If you just woulda chilled out and been cool. You’re an interesting guy, Billy, like come on. Yea, you drive around in your loud car and you’re an asshole to people’s faces, but that’s all bullshit.” Steve shrugs again, not reacting at all to Billy staring at him with wide eyes, his lips parted. Heart hammering in his throat. “We could be friends. Or at least fuck buddies.”

He grins at the end of that. If he were Billy, he’d wink. Fuck buddies sounds fun. Lovers sounds better, but.

Looking away, unable to meet Steve’s eyes that will surely shine with stars in them when he hears this, Billy mumbles, “Okay.”

And shine they do with a smile unfurling ever so slowly on Steve’s pretty lips.

“Yea? You mean it?”

Narrowed eyes zip right back to him.

“Don’t get carried away.” Billy almost goes to shrug Steve’s hand off him… but he can’t convince himself to do it. Steve will probably go home now that the worst part of his heat is sated. “I’m still an asshole even to people I like. I’m not a good person.”

Steve grumbles under his breath, “Yea, whatever man,” but then chimes in louder, “So I guess you’re not going home tonight. You wanna crash with me or Hopper?”

Billy shoots a glance to the open door of the cell. Hopper hadn’t wandered back to them. He is sort of shite at the whole aftercare thing…

“Would the Chief actually let me stay with him tonight?”

“Yea but you don’t wanna go over there. His couch sucks.” Steve’s expression is carefully hopeful when he suggests, “I’ve got a big, empty house with plenty of guest rooms. Unless you wanna bunk with me, which I wouldn’t say no…”

A bath sounds nice. A real one, soaking in hot water as deeply as he can slide his body into the tub. Well, after washing himself of course, because he’s filthy. And still hoping Hopper hadn’t come in him, but now that it’s over, the thought doesn’t terrify him that badly. Disgusts him more than anything. Maybe he’ll think twice about coming in the next guy he fucks… Unless it’s Steve, then all bets are off.

Billy is silent while he pretends to mull it over. He’d started his night climbing out of his window, throwing the Camaro in neutral, and sort of letting it roll down the street far enough away that starting the engine probably didn’t wake anyone in his house. And then when he parked at the junkyard and climbed into his backseats for the night, he thought that would be his weekend. Alone and lonely rather than just his normal alone. He still wonders who the fuck called Hopper on him. But because of that call, he’s here now. A little sore, a lot tired, but… Steve is here. And that’s nice. 

Glancing up from his thoughts, no regrets now, Billy asks with a cocked eyebrow, “Do you snore?”

Steve’s laugh with his head thrown back echoes off the cinderblock walls of the police station. They’re not so cold anymore when Billy smiles in the sun of Steve’s amusement. It’s nice. He’ll be okay. If only for tonight, he’ll be okay.


End file.
